*~ramblings of a busy mom~*

Saturday, May 7

Ok, so John got home after working approximately 483 13 hours today. Here's the conversation we had about ten minutes after he walked in the door:

John: 'Ah, my dearest Brea, most precious, beautiful, and wise above all other women! How I have missed you in these long hours of our absence. How faired you and our lovely progeny on this day?'

(Ok, fine. What he really said was more along the lines of, 'Hey baby. Gah, I'm glad to be out of the store; my shift was crazy long. How was your day with the kids?' But come on. My translation sounded way better.)

Brea: 'I'm glad you asked; it was great! We accomplished a lot, caught up on school and laundry, shot the bows out back, got all our church clothes picked out ...' blah, blah, brag about productiveness, blah, blah, blah

John: 'Wow, that's impressive. The house looks great, by the way. Any reason for getting so much done?'

(I thought for about 3 seconds about being offended by that last comment, but seeing how he made an accurate observation, I decided to take the compliment and run with it.)

Brea: 'Ok, this might sound a silly ...'

(John raised his eyebrow at that.)

Brea: '... a little sillier than normal, but I had this dream last night, and I was taking names and kicking ass in the middle of this medieval battle ...'

(both eyebrows were raised after that)

Brea: '... ANYWAY, so when I woke up, I felt like listening to Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries. So I did. I've always loved that one, and it set me in a very conquering mood, and I've decided I'm doing the same thing tomorrow. If it works, I'm totally adding it to my morning routine.'

John: 'The ride of the who the whaaaaaaaaa?'

Brea: 'Richard Wagner? German opera composer? Ride of the Valkyries? Any of this ringing a bell?'

John: (crickets started chirping)

Brea: 'Seriously? Um ... ok. Hold on, don't go anywhere.'

(I ran off to get my laptop, and pulled up Ride on YouTube, and played it for him.)

John: 'Oh, you mean Kill The Wabbit! Yeah, I know about that composer. You know, they used to play him at a lot of Nazi rallies. Hitler was a big fan of his.'

Brea: (long, chirping-filled pause as I tried to figure out which question to ask first) 'Whaaaa ... ? They did? He was? Wait, kill the wabbit? Dude, I'm not a Nazi!'

John: 'Chill. I didn't call you a Nazi. Come on, Kill The Wabbit! Bugs Bunny? Elmer Fudd? Any of this ringing a bell for you?'

Brea: (cricket noises swell to symphonic proportions)

John: (raises the eyebrow again)

Brea: 'Wait, the one where Elmer Fudd looks like a Viking trashcan? Yeah, I remember that one.'

John: 'Cool. I was getting worried that you hadn't heard of it.'

(I just looked at him for a minute.)

Brea: 'Isn't that supposed to be my line?'

So now, do I have shrill Valkyries screeching in German stuck in my head? Nooooooooo ... I've frickin' got frickin' Elmer Fudd singing frickin' 'kill the waaabbit! Kill the waaaaaaaaabbit!!' stuck on a terrible loop in my frickin' head. I liked it better when I was dreaming about opening up a can of medieval WHOOP ASS.

So now I just may have to kill John, and talking about putting a damper on my Mother's Day. 'No, officer, I haven't seen the tiny pieces of his body that I buried out back John this morning. I'm very confused, also!'

If he starts singing Rebecca Black's Friday (oh, yes, that's right. He does it to annoy me!) at any point tonight or tomorrow, IT'S ON.

Friday, May 6

Ok, it's now been OVER a year since I've posted. This has got to be a record, even for moi. So here's a quick update on the last year of my life:

Sam, The Eldest, is almost 9, and getting to be more like his father every day. This is usually a good thing. He's been playing baseball (yeah, I'm going to admit that he RAWKS my socks off ... he's GOOD!), and participating in AWANA Club, and he's about to finish second grade in a few weeks. He's responsible and steady and my favorite child.

Evie, the Drama Mama, will be 8 this summer. She's reading every single thing the can get her hands on (no, I have no idea where she gets THAT propensity!), and she becomes more like me every day. This is occasionally a good thing. She did the same AWANA Club as Sam, and she'll also be finishing second grade soon. As much as I doubted at times, my friends were right, and cursive didn't kill anyone in our household. She's dramatic and loving and my favorite child.

David, my Danger Boy, is 4 ... and nothing but trouble. Don't let the huge dimples fool you; he's not to be trusted any further than you can throw him. He'll be starting kindergarten when we begin our next school year, and he'll tell you that he knows multiplication ... and then start yelling out random numbers to prove his point. He's the toughest kid I know and idolizes his siblings and he's my favorite child.

Elizabeth Skye is 13 months old ... and God help that poor child, but we call her The Beetle. Or sometimes just Beetle. I'm not kidding. She doesn't answer to Skye, but if you holler "BEETLE!" from the other side of the house, she comes a'running. Or a'toddling, as it were. She has a smirk that screams TROUBLE, and she loves to hug people, and her favorite pastime is looking right at you, throwing something on the floor, and sweetly saying 'Uh oh!' She is mischievous and the most beautiful little thing with curls and dimples ever and my favorite child.

Two of my dearest recently found out that they're pregnant, and are due within a few weeks of each other. My mom's comment? "Oh, I'm so happy for her!" Followed by, "Brea, this isn't a race. DO NOT go and get yourself knocked up again!"

a) it's totally a race (hi, I'm a FIRSTBORN!!!), and out of the three of us, I'm WINNING already.

b) I need like 37 more babies, so I'm not ruling anything out.

John and I, with the occasional help of our family, just finished putting a 400-square-foot deck on the back of our house, complete with railing, gates, and stairs. I've never physically worked so hard in my entire life, and had so much fun at the same time.

And on that note, my feral monkeys are losing their minds, and need some wrangling. We're off to the store, but I promise that I'll be back more often.

And to the person for whom I'm writing this post ... you know who you are, and I love you so much, and I wish I could see you every day!!!!!!!!!

Sunday, April 18

Miss Elizabeth Skye was born on April 3 at 10:50. She was 6 pounds and 10 ounces ... my smallest baby yet! I'll have her birth story coming soon. Stay tuned; it's a fun one!

(I'm not as cool as Jessica, having an unexpected unattended birth, but it was a little quick!)

So, I'll leave you with this for a day or two. If you haven't heard of The Oatmeal, you simply must go and play on the website. (Warning: not kid friendly!) And if you've read Twilight, and LOVE it for its sheer and utter AWFULNESS (which, of course, translates into AWESOMENESS), then you have to read this. Now.

Thursday, February 25

OHMommy over at Classy Chaos thinks that she's in the running for the Worst Mom of the Year award. Seriously, you should go read this post. A recap: she sent her daughter to preschool in a cheerleading costume. One that her daughter is obsessed with. What parent hasn't done that?

(Seriously, Sam has this pair of baseball pants that a friend gave him that he wears every. freaking. day. and I hate them with a passion that burns hotter than a thousand suns. However, I let him wear them because ... well, it's easier than trying to reason with the child. Or burning the pants. But I digress ...)

But OHMommy forgot that it was school picture day. And that there may or may not have been some oatmeal on said cheerleading costume. She's fairly mortified, and acting like the world is ending. :)

(I say this with love, because she makes me laugh all the time when I check out her blog. You should spend some time perusing her archives.)

But dearest Pauline, wonderful OHMommy, I have news for you. You might be classy, you might be a tad obsessed with stilettos in a slightly unhealthy way, you might speak several languages ... but you, my dear, are an amateur. You have no idea.

But I do. Because at book club last night, we got to talking. My sweet friend Melanie, who introduced me to the book club five years ago, is someone I met at a Bible study I did when Sam and Evie were little. Melanie was in my small group one year, then was the teacher for one of the children's classes ... the class with Sam and Evie.

Our story takes place about the time that Evie was learning how to dress herself, and she was very proud of it. Didn't matter that she would put on a pink shirt with some sequins and some green pants and maybe a blue sock and an orange sock. With ugly brown shoes. Heaven help the person who tried to coordinate her once her mind was set.

(I don't know why she owned green pants. Looking back, I find that to be ... well ... wrong. No one should own green pants, and I have no excuse for letting them enter my house. I apologize.)

So we were running late one morning (yes, shocking, I know!!) and finally everyone was dressed and out the door and in their car seats and buckled and snapped and strapped and we were driving across town to Bible study. I ended up only being abut five minutes late to small group after dropping off the kids and running across the church grounds.

I think that was the year we were studying Esther, but I don't remember. I'm sure everything went well, and that I enjoyed the lesson that day (as I generally did; it was a great Bible study), and learned stuff. Chatted a bit with my aunt and some friends, and went back to the kids building to pick up Sam and Evie and head home. When I got over there, Melanie rushed me at the door and dragged my ass over to a corner very discretely pulled my aside.

"What's up, Mel?" I inquired in my usual, carefree tone of voice.

"Brea, your daughter isnnkelwlem mme mumble kjwlr wenbjwrhw."

"Huh?"

"It's Evie. She mmwejkwr mumble wejlrwe."

"Melanie, speak up. You're freaking me out! What did Evie do?"

"Brea, she didn't do anything. She isn't wearing any underwear!"

(silence)

(crickets begin to chirp)

"Huh?"

(At this point, I should probably mention Evie's outfit for the day. Was she wearing pants? No. A long skirt? Notsomuch. Shorts, even? Of course not. Evie was wearing a cute flared short denim skirt with a pink bow on it, a green shirt, and red sandals. The outfit is forever seared into my memory, believe me.)

"Yeah, Brea. She went over to play with the dollhouse, picked up a doll, and I could see all the way to China if you know what I mean."

"Oh. Um. Hmmmm. Well, shit."

"Yeah."

And then it dawned on me ... "OH MY GOODNESS! I brought my daughter to Bible study in a short skirt with no flipping underwear?!?!"

"Yeah, Brea."

"Melanie, I've never done this before, I swear. Thank you so much for not turning me in! Wait, you didn't turn me in, did you?"

She hadn't turned me in. And now, it's really, really, really funny. Everyone (especially the gals without kids) got a really big kick out of the story last night.

So there's a few lessons you can learn from all this:

1. As Pauline has taught us, pay attention to school picture day. It's probably best to mark it on a very visible calendar. In red ink.

2. The things that mortify us at the time, make us pray for the earth to open and swallow us whole ... in the long run, it's ok. More than ok, it's usually pretty damn funny.

And last, but certainly not least ...

3. Always do an underwear check before walking out the door. Especially if you're headed to Bible study.

Saturday, February 20

Yes, moi, the ultimate wake-up-early, watch-the-sunrise, enjoy-the-silence-of-the-morning kind of gal ... It's true. It's 11:45 and I'm only on my second cup of coffee, because I've only been up for about an hour.

Why, Brea?

Oh, I'm glad you asked. Because, with five weeks left until my due date, the psychotic nesting instinct has started to randomly strike. I say random because right now, were someone to pour a bucket of sand on the floor of every room in my house, I would probably look at said piles of sand and walk away.

Last night? At 11? Noooooooo ... I was up until 1:30 cleaning my effin' bathroom. With a freakin' toothbrush. Also, my washing machine. What kind of crazy person takes a scrubber and said toothbrush and details their washing machine?

Oh, right. Yeah. That would be me.

Then I had to take a bath. Cause, you know, why not? Also, my back was hurting.

And my sweet husband, who didn't even get home until 2:30, ran crowd control on the kids this morning until I rolled myself out of bed. God bless that wonderful man.

And now, as I sip my third cup of coffee, I'm being serenaded my the clacking of my keys on the keyboard, Rush playing on iTunes, and ... the sounds of a rifle being fired repeatedly in my backyard. Cause, you know, why not? We live in Bastrop, people. You know all those stereotypical redneck stories you hear about people in the country? I'm pretty sure that most, if not all, of the stories originated in Bastrop County. So when Saturday morning rolls around, it's what you do: wake up, have some coffee and breakfast, chat with your spouse over the newspaper, tell the kids to brush their teeth, then head out back for a little bonding and target practice.

I just decided to stay in this morning because I didn't want to damage everyone's self-esteem too much. I'm a good shot, mmmk? Though Sam is quickly catching up ... I don't like that. What a punk. :)

And on that note, it's now noon, and I have to get my lazy butt in the shower, then to the grocery store and back before John starts getting ready for work. Have a great weekend, everyone! Who has some big plans for the next few days?

Who doesn't like coffee?? So I asked her, like any kind and sensitive friend would, "What in heaven's name is wrong with you? Who doesn't like coffee?" Luckily, I have a very nice friend, and she laughed and said, "Well, neither of my parents drink it, so I was never around it until college, and by then, I just didn't want any."

Well, ok. I get that. So we started talking about how each family seems to leave out a few traditional things, and the kids grow up all deprived and neglected.

(Not really about the deprived and neglected part. But go with me, mmmk?)

For those of you who live in places that aren't the South or Texas, there are certain things you do. You drink sweet tea year-round, for the better part of every day. You grow tomatoes. You say "yes, ma'am" and "no, sir" so that your momma doesn't tan your hide when you get home, and "please" and "thank you" are kind of ingrained and will never, ever leave your vocabulary, even if you try to not be polite. (I'm so not kidding. I thank people all the time for the most inane things! I can't help it!) You eat bar-b-que with alarming frequency.

And there are a few foods that ... well ... Robert E Lee help you if you don't serve them at a holiday. Ham. Rolls. Turkey. Gravy, preferably two different kinds. Green bean casserole. Yams with marshmallows on top. I mention these last two things because ...

(takes a deep breath to prepare for confession time)

... my family doesn't eat these foods.

(ducks from rotten food being thrown)

I know!! It's awful!! But as far as green beans went, we had so many fresh green beans from the garden that I think we didn't feel the need to torture ourselves with the things from a can. What is with the weird ring of those crunchy faux-onion thingys on the top? And, I mean, what did a green bean ever do to me that I'd want to put it in an oven?? Honestly! And the thing with the canned yams and the marshmallows ... to this day, it freaks me out. I'm not kidding. We grew up eating sweet potatoes at every holiday (still do!), but it was my great-grandmother's sweet potato souffle recipe that we had. (It's better. Trust me. By a million and 38 times.)

Also, I didn't realize until I was in my late teens, maybe ever older than 20, that when the rest of the world eats ribs, they eat pork ribs. Pork ribs!

The horror!!

I'm a Lone Star kind of gal, and as far as I'm concerned (and of course, I'm right) ribs go from the cow to the smoker to my plate. COW. Beef ribs, people. It's the only way to live trust me. Especially if my dad is making that kinda sweet sauce stuff that he brushes over them while they're on the grill ... Man, I still remember sneaking lots of little tastes of that stuff while he was cooking.

(In retrospect, it's kind of amazing that my brothers and I didn't all die of food poisoning when we were younger. However, that's a whole 'nother topic for another day ... and I'm digressing.)

All that to say, I guess I can't fault Elli too much for ordering hot chocolate instead of coffee. She wasn't raised to know better. (Zing! That's right, I said it!) We all have things our families leave out. I don't like potato salad, although it shows up a every. Southern. gathering. ever., and I also don't drink sweet tea. Can't help it!

At least I'm not as bad as my freakishly tall younger brothers. They were both raised right, in a God fearing, Gospel singing, coffee drinking household, and they still don't drink coffee. Can you believe the nerve of those two?!?!

Anyway, what always shows up on your family's holiday table? Is there anything obviously missing?

Sunday, February 14

A good Texas southern drawl. Nothing sexier than being called "ma'am" while having a door opened for you by a Good Ole' Boy. Seriously.

Babies!!! And book club.

Chickens. And cowboy boots. I wear my boots four or five times each week, minimum. Even during Texas summers. And cooking. Chili. Oh, and coffee. Hmm, C is a good letter for me.

Dirt. It makes things grow. It smells unique. My kids like to play in it. 'Nough said.

Earthworms. See above. And Ertha Kitt.

Facebook. For real. And the Farmers' Market. AndField of Dreams.

Greek mythology.

Having such wonderful friends. Especially ones who live in Iowa, and say, "Sure, we've never met in person, but you can bring your punk ass kids and come visit me this summer!" (She doesn't know it, but I plan on throwing out a LOT of Field of Dreams references while I'm there.)

Information. I love to learn about anything and everything.

Jedi mind tricks. And homemade dewberry jam. And jasmine flowers: so small, but so fragrant!

Koala bears. I want to hug me some koala bear.

Long walks on the beach. *

My Amazon Kindle. It goes against almost everything I believe ... and I'm horribly, hopelessly in love with it!

Novels. And Nancy, my completely wonderful grandmother. (Note to self: interview her for the blog; she's super funny!) And the word nuptial.

Onions, but only when finely chopped and cooked. Especially in chili.

Procreation, the act of.

Queen. The band. Much like my BFF Sarah, my favorite song in the Whole World is Bohemian Rhapsody. That ballad is unparalleled in it's amazingness, right, Sarah?Rough earth snakes. They look (and mostly act) like giant earthworms. We find them out here a lot, and Evie calls them 'the most friendly snake of all.' Of course, she's right.

Sarah. I know that is surprising ... if you've never met me. Or talked to me. Or looked at my blog.

Teasing John, and having him tease me back. It's quite fun, especially when I can one-up him ... which happens about ever second never. And Texas, cause it's the best. And tacos (the real kind, not from Taco Hell.)

Ufology. (That's the study of UFOs. I'm not kidding. I didn't make that up, I promise!)

Vampires. Edward Cullen, Sookie Stackhouse, Black Dagger boys, Ann Rice ... I can't help it! Sorry!! (Please don't tell anyone, cause I'd be really embarrassed to admit that I don't read Real Literature 100% of the time. In my defense, Atlas Shrugged is still the best book I've read in many, many years.)

WD40. Cause squeaky doors are the bane of my existence. Well, squeaky doors and laundry. But the WD40 doesn't help much with laundry. And working on my truck, but only when it doesn't cost too much money.Xanadu. Have you seen that movie? It's awful; the ultimate guilty pleasure!

Yesterday. One of my fav Beatles' songs.

Zombie movies, even though they scare the ever-living (or is it ever-undead??) snot out of me.

So now you know.

*Total lie. I hate the ocean with a passion. But it sounds nice, don't you think?